Sacred Pasta
by Pastafreaks
Summary: Pasta was sacred for Italy. Taking his pasta without his permission was like taking a Bible and burning it in front of a Christian person. It was like forcing someone extremely superstitious to walk under a ladder. It was like trying to take Russia's scarf. /You just didn't do it./ -Utter stupidity, OOC-ness, swearing, implied GerIta. (PastaFreak Romano)


**So like... I was bored and when I'm bored I write stupid pointless things I know probably no one will read... Crack D: Ah well, if anyone does read this, I warn you, Italy is OOC and it rather implies Prussia and Germany's imminent dooms.**

**Hetalia: Not mine**

An inhuman wail rang through Germany's house, echoing off the light blue walls and causing a flock of birds to squawk indignantly and fly around in the forest behind the two-story home. Germany, who had been sitting at his desk, signing papers that had to do something with trading with Austria, jumped to his feet, all of his soldier training flooding his brain at once. He reacted immediately and sprinted down the stairs, to the source of the scream, his heart beating fast.

"_Chi ha fatto questo__? Chi?! __Lo ucciderò!" _Italy sounded like he was about to start crying.

"Italy!" Germany roared, taking a corner too quickly and nearly running face-first into the wall. "Italy, where are you?"

Italy's voice sobbed from behind the island in the middle of the kitchen. "Germany!" he cried.

A set of footsteps came thundering up the stairs from the basement, and then Prussia ran into the kitchen, almost running straight into his brother as Germany rushed over to where Italy's voice came from.

"What the heck!" Prussia complained. He hurried to where Germany was kneeling beside Italy, frantically staring and not knowing what to do as Italy cried and cried, a platter with some sort of red sauce covered food shattered and flung across the floor. He couldn't tell whether Italy was mad, sad, or hurt, but he looked to be all three. Germany seemed to be in the same position, his blue eyes wide and mouth hanging slightly open.

Italy made a strange growling sound, wiping furiously at his amber eyes. They flashed dangerously. "Who did it?" he screeched, whirling to face the Germans. "_Who_?"

Blue eyes met red, and the brothers shared a quick look of confused terror. Germany grabbed Italy's shoulders, hesitantly asking, "Who did _what_, Italy?"

Italy ground his teeth together, and an animalistic growl escaped through them. "_Who_," he hissed, fingers curling into fists, "ate my _fucking pasta_?"

Normally, this would have made Germany roll his eyes and he would have scolded Italy for being so childish. However, he knew that Italy's pasta was not something to be fucked with. Pasta was sacred for Italy. Taking his pasta without his permission was like taking a Bible and burning it in front of a Christian person. It was like forcing someone extremely superstitious to walk under a ladder. It was like trying to take Russia's scarf. _You just didn't do it._

Germany stared at Italy, Prussia stared at Germany, and Italy glared at them both, angry tears starting to form in his eyes.

"It wasn't me," Germany said honestly, glad that he'd decided against eating it earlier. Italy's wrath was ten times scarier than his could ever hope to be. "The only other people who have been here recently are you, Austria, Hungary and Prussia. Hungary was on a diet last I saw her, and Austria doesn't like pasta all that much..."

There was a nervous giggle from behind him. "_Kesese..._ Are you implying somethin', West?"

"Actually... yes, I was." Germany turned to face Prussia.

Prussia's grin faltered when Germany crossed his arms, and Italy's eyes fell on him. Another nervous laugh bubbled up his throat, and he backed away, but ended up tripping over his own foot. "I-I can explain..."

Italy seethed. "Try," he spat, lurching forward as if to attack Prussia. He would have landed a solid punch if Germany hadn't grabbed his fist at the last moment. Italy barely noticed, his furious amber eyes glaring holes into Prussia's very soul.

"W-well, you see, I was hungry! Very hungry! And I—I saw it sitting there in the fridge, and I couldn't help it, I was so hungry and it looked so yummy—!"

Italy cried out, falling to his knees. "_Dio mio!_ Of _ course_ it was yummy! I spent hours preparing that! I made the noodles from scratch and the sauce from tomatoes Romano gave me from Spain and I was going to have a big dinner with all of us together but now I c_an't_ because you _ate my fucking pasta!_" By the end he was angry again, trying to run forward to pounce on Prussia, but unable to due to Germany's iron grip on his wrists. "_Germany, let me go right now or I swear to God no sex for a goddamn year."_

Germany faltered. His grip loosened, and for a moment, he teetered there uncertainly as Prussia stared in fear and Italy glared at him in a very serious way. Finally Germany swallowed. "_Traurig, bruder..._ But you should run."

Prussia gaped in disbelief. "Seriously?" he demanded.

In response, Germany silently let go of Italy's wrist, letting the little Italian tornado free. Prussia screeched and ran to the front door, and Italy was right on his tail, waving his white flag above his head. Germany thought idly that a white flag wasn't right for this situation, and then he realized that one end of the stick the flag was attached to wasn't blunt, like the other end, but rather, sharpened to a point. He felt a vague sort of horror and pity for his brother's lost soul, and turned his back to the door they'd left from.

If he didn't look, maybe he could ignore the fact that Italy was the most terrifying person he had ever met. And maybe he could ignore the sound of Prussia screaming for mercy and forgiveness and Italy's demonic-sounding carefree laugh echoing in his front yard.

**Lulz Germany's a horny bastard. /shot**

**I'm a horrible person. Please be a kind soul and review if you even finished reading this piece of crap that I wrote in under an hour because I was bored and my Veneziano said to write Italy angry... T^T Guess what else? I couldn't think of an ending. This is standard with me D:**

_Chi ha fatto questo__? Chi?! __Lo ucciderò! _Who did this? Who?! I'll kill him! (Google Translate... so it's probably wrong. T.T No speak Italian...)

_Traurig, bruder... _Sorry, brother (Again, Google Translate!)


End file.
